The Obliterated
by watchmaker1331
Summary: A stranger is dragged into Ellesmera...and condemned to death! Eragon discovers that the Elves are not as perfect as they seem..Please R&R! ELDEST SPOILER WARNING
1. Chapter 1

**This "chapter" occurs in _Eldest_, after the chapter "The Obliterator." I don't own _Eragon_ etc, etc, as I am _not_ Christopher Paolini.**

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Returning to his "bird's nest," Eragon laid his head on Saphira's cerulean shoulders, contemplating Oromis's words. The elves seemed so perfect; they could be "logical," living in their perfect world where none starved or sickened, where everyone was at peace. Of course there were aberrations, like the pitiless Vanir, but the others concealed their emotions like pillars of stone.

_You are troubled, little one._

_You seem to be saying that a lot._

He felt her ironic smile. _I'm just…feeling my humanity, that's all, _he replied. She glided to a halt as they reached the platform of the apartment, turning her magnificent head to look him in the eye.

_You are more than human, little one. _She paused, ruffling his hair with her warm breath. _I go now to hunt; Glaedr is meeting me back by the Crags, _she said, the abrupt change in subject exciting her. _We shouldn't be gone terribly long…will you _please_ try to stay out of trouble in the meantime?_

He chuckled, stroking her head. _I won't go looking for it, at least._ She seemed satisfied, waiting for him to dismount before rocketing back into the sky to join her mentor. She glanced back once. _I'll be back soon._

He watched her fly off until she melted into the azure sky, leaning against the polished doorframe. From here, he could see most of Ellesméra. Du Weldenvarden stretched away before him, unbreakable. He could just glimpse the hazy outlines of mountains in the distance. The graceful panorama made him feel utterly small, so he turned his gaze to the ground below where he could watch the comings and goings of the elven people. He observed them for several minutes, unable to stop himself from comparing them to the ants he had studied earlier. For all their elegance and polish, the day-to-day actions seemed very similar from this height. He watched them for almost twenty minutes, relaxed and without incident, before a party of elf men appeared from the forest, dragging between them a struggling form.

"Lady Islanzadí!" they called in the ancient language. One of them ran forward with the poise of a deer, bounding towards Tialdari Hall. After a moment, Islanzadi came forward, Arya at her elbow. Blagden soared above them, a herald of their imminent arrival. "_Wyrda!_" he shrieked, circling party before settling on the Queen's shoulder. Eragon turned and descended the stairs; this was something very unusual.

He reached the group of elves as one of them explained the situation to the queen in hushed tones. He approached Arya, who glanced at him warily. He sighed. "What's going on?" he inquired in the ancient language, averting his eyes from her graceful form. They landed on the creature scuffling with the other two forest men. A boy no older than himself, dressed in a shapeless wine-dark tunic with fawn breeches twisted his arms this way and that, a hood obscuring his head and neck. The elves gripped him stoically, as though trying their best to ignore him. A thin, empty scabbard hung from a belt at his waist.

"Captured in the forest, only two miles from here" Arya replied quietly, her voice hollow. Eragon looked up at her inquisitively. Her face was drawn and agitated as she watched the futile efforts of the captive. Islanzadi nodded to the man and stepped forward.

"What manner of creature are you, that you can evade even the strongest of our spells?" she said coldly. The boy paused at the hard note in the voice, looking up. The queen reached forward and threw the hood back from his face, revealing…

Eragon gasped. What he had took to be a boy was, in fact, a fiery haired girl with pointed ears and blazing green eyes; undeniably an elf, though he had never seen one with such coloration. A long, thin scar passed from the base of her left ear down her neck until it disappeared beneath her merlot cloak. Arya straightened next to him. Her mother took an involuntary step back, her hand rising to her heart.

"You! You were told to never return!" she exclaimed, fighting to regain her composure. Blagden shrieked "_Wyrda!" _and exploded from his mistress's shoulder. He flew three times around the prisoner's head, then hovered before her face. The girl snapped at him with even, white teeth. He shrieked again, flying back to the queen. Islandzadi glared at her. "You know the punishment. Take her away!" she exclaimed, stalking back towards the Hall. Arya paused, as though she wanted to say something, then followed her, glancing back at Eragon for the briefest of moments before hurrying after her mother.

The elf men dragged the girl off and Eragon followed at a distance. He was curious as to what this female could have done to warrant such attention; he had never seen the queen so flustered. The girl tripped forward between the two strong men as they led her towards the edge of the city. She made little sound as she kicked and wrenched her arms, but they only tightened their hold and moved on. They traveled this way for several moments, silent except for the thrashing of the girl. He admired her perseverance; what ever she had done, at least she was resolute. They finally came upon a small stone hut, the first that Eragon had seen in the city of trees, and opened the heavy iron door. Tossing the girl roughly inside, they proceeded to close the weighty portal.

"Wait!" Eragon called, trotting to catch up with them. They looked up, startled, then glanced at each other. They then began closing the door once more. "Wait a moment!" he said exasperatedly, wishing that Saphira was here. They worshiped the ground she walked on; if she had requested it, he had no doubt they would have halted. Still, they paused, their swords drawn.

"I wish to visit the prisoner," he said politely, bowing. The tallest, obviously the leader, bowed back, beginning the ritual greeting. Eragon sighed, returning it. Elves were an unbending sort, refusing to waver from their traditions in even the simplest of situations. After they had finished, he repeated his request.

"I think, Shur'tugal, that that may not be wise," the first suggested, his voice firm. A muffled sound escaped from the hut, as though the inhabitant was speaking. "Silence!" he hollered, rapping his sword on the door. It rang hollowly like a giant bell, making Eragon want to cover his ears. It must have been ten times worse inside the echoic chamber. Satisfied, the elf bowed again to Eragon. "With respect, sir, perhaps you should put your request to the queen…" he trailed off, leaving no doubt in Eragon's mind that he would not allow him to enter until he had done so. Irritated, Eragon inclined his head slightly, then turned on his heal and returned to the city.

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"Arya-elda! _Arya!_" Eragon hammered on what he had been told was Arya's door. It was one of the first solid doors he had seen; he suspected it has something to do with her special standing. "Arya, please! I need to ask you a favor."

The door slid partially into its pocket, revealing a single dark eye staring out at him. "Yes, Shur'tugal?" she asked stiffly.

"Arya…will you grant me permission to visit the captive?" he said quietly. Her milky skin paled, her visible eye widening.

"Do you know what you ask, Eragon-elda? Am…the Nameless One is condemned! We shouldn't be speaking of her so…so freely." The door opened ever so slightly, just enough for her to poke her head out. She glanced up and down the hall, then allowed him to pass through.

Her rooms were beautiful. The wood of the walls had grown in different colors, the twisting patterns arching to a point in the high-vaulted ceiling. A stained glass window in the center of the dome cast a gentle design onto the hardwood floor. An intricate rug covered the center of the floor, swirling clouds of green and gold mirrored the swaying leaves of the forest. Eragon had little time to take all of this in, how ever, before she ushered him into a chair carved into the shape of a rearing horse. He watched her carefully; she was more restless than he had ever seen her before. Normally the picture of stoney elfishness, she twisted her dress beneath her delicate fingers nervously in a very un-Arya-like manner.

"The Nameless One was banned from Du Weldenvarden many years ago. We may not speak the name of the banished; they are dead to us. The penalty for returning unbidden from exile is…is death."

Eragon stared at her, aghast. The elves, who valued life so highly above everything else, had a death sentence? It seemed so unnatural, almost sacrilegious for the perfect elves that he thought he knew. But Arya obviously believed what she was saying; she had never led him astray before. "What could one do to deserve such punishment?" he inquired.

She stood, wringing her hands. She began to pace, her dark hair falling across her face as she walked. "The Nameless One," she chuckled sadly, "is dangerous. Her deeds are…I cannot speak of them. Eragon-elda…if you must visit her, I grant your wish." She looked at him pleadingly, as though trying to convey something else to him through her dark eyes. She turned away from him and picked up a thin piece of leather. She touched her fingertip to it and a flowing silver script appeared on its surface. She handed him the hide silently. "You may go, but go quickly; she dies in the morning," she said quietly.

"Thank you, " he responded, unsure of what else to say, taking the leather from her. She released it and turned away. He left, the haunted look on her face driving him ever faster.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Eragon_ is not mine, but this general storyline, along with Amaka Yannickosi, are MINE...MWA HA HA...ahem. Please R&R.**

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He returned to the stone hut, striding purposely towards the four elves that stood guard. One made as though to stop him, but held up his hand. He gave to them the scrap of leather Arya had written on, watching them. They conferred quietly with each other for a moment, then stepped aside as the leader opened the bulky door. "Be careful, Shur'tugal. Call out if you need us," he said, no trace of his irritation imparted in his voice. Eragon nodded curtly and ducked beneath the low frame.

The small room inside was dark and hot, like an oven. Three slim rays of light filtered in from bars in the ceiling, illuminating the rough stone floor and walls. Even the ceiling was made of tin shingles. No scrap of greenery protruded the stony prison. The door clanged shut.

The prisoner lay stretched out, propped up against the wall wearing only her breeches, a linen breastband, and a thin golden chain with an unidentifiable charm that rested in the hollow of her neck. Her dark tunic was wadded up behind her head as a pillow against the hard rock. Her shining ginger hair was tied back in a drooping bun; her entire body glistened with sweat. She glanced up as he entered, her piercing emerald eyes boring into his skull. They had an unearthly quality to them, seeming almost to glow in the dim light. He glanced away before he could stop himself, but quickly returned his gaze to her with a frown. She smirked at him, raising a thin eyebrow. She opened her delicate mouth, speaking in Common. "Please, sit."

He bent his knees, marveling at the strange beauty she possessed. There was not doubt in his mind now that she was elven; she had the unmistakeable pointed ears and angular features of the sylvan people. But something about her seemed out of place in an elf; not only her coloring but her manner as well. All the elves he knew started the traditional greeting before speaking anything else; perhaps she thought _he_ should begin?

"Atra esterní…" he began. She waved a hand in the air dismissively, and he paused.

"Really, Eragon. Is that necessary? I'm here to kill you, not invite you to dinner." She continued to smirk at him, wiping a layer of sweat off of her forehead and onto her pants. She reached forward with the other hand. "I am Amaka Yannickosi, called Half-Elven. And, you of course, are the new Rider."

He nodded but ignored the hand, leaning up against the opposite corner. So she was only _half _Elven. Yannickosi. No, Yannick's daughter didn't sound very elven at all. That accounted for her oddity. Even her well-muscled body was different; he couldn't help noticing how much larger her breasts were than that of other Elven women. She withdrew her hand, cocking her head to the side. "Really, boy, I know you've been living with these stuffy creatures for awhile, but I expected you to be a little more...forthcoming."

He chuckled at that. "I apologize."

"Don't," she said, frowning. "I can't abide that." Dropping her hand to her side, she released a puff of air. "Damn, it's hot."

"Aye," he assented, wiping his own brow with his sleeve.

"Why have you come to visit me, my prey? Normally the hunted avoid the hunter."

"Again, you say you hunt me. Why? For how long?" he asked, evading her question. He wasn't entirely sure of the answer; he was sure it had something to do with that disturbed look on Arya's face.

She shrugged. "I'm a mercenary. People pay me to do such things. When you kill things for awhile, you tend to get rather good at it," she replied. She grinned malevolently. "I've been following you ever since you left your sweet Carvahall."

He looked at her, surprised at how familiar she looked. He couldn't place her face, but her consciousness throbbed against his in a uniquely memorable way, as though they had once been in close contact. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

Her face hardened, her bright jade eyes trained on his own. "You ask much, Shadeslayer. Everything has a price. What have you to give in return?"

He raised an eyebrow, speaking in the ancient language. "In return for the account of your…your offense and subsequent hunt, I shall regale you with the story of my time as a Rider."

"Excellent," she purred, gathering her legs up in her arms. "Let me tell you a story, Eragon of Carvahall."


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own _Eragon_, etc, etc...I'm certainly not making any money off THIS baby. DON'T TAKE AMAKA FROM ME! SHE'S ALL I HAVE!**

**Please R&R. It's a small price to pay for what would otherwise be some pretty ridiculous freeloading. (not that freeloading is always a bad thing...moving on.)**

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"Long ago, before the reign of Galbatorix, a band of soldiers arrived in the town of Dralsja, which is now dust. It was situated at the edge of Du Weldenvarden, southwest of Ellesméra; many elves mingled with the humans. They had no symbol or sign to indicate their allegiance, but claimed they had crossed the wide, spiteful desert on a mission they spoke of no one, save that it was of great importance. Their captain, Yannick, was gravely ill, and the elven healer woman, Karua that lived in the town offer to cure him. His sickness turned out to be a severe enchantment; she nearly died unbinding him from it. He recovered slowly, and in that time she cared for him. The two fell in love; the wild, red-haired soldier and the graceful elven maiden." Here she shrugged with a sad chuckle, her startling green eyes trained on the dirty stone beneath them.

"She got pregnant; the other elves were shocked. Surely, this human must have raped her! No sane elf would mate with such imperfection willingly. So, demonstrating their impeccable ability to jump to the wrong conclusion, a group of elfmen gathered outside of the house where the lovers stayed. They burned it to the ground." At this she looked up at him, horrid fury boiling behind her beautiful mask. "The elf woman was in the forest at the time, gathering herbs for her duties. When she saw the smoke, she ran as swiftly as she could, but it was too late. The captain was dead."

Eragon blinked at the stone of the floor; in its dull surface he could see the scene unfold. He could feel the heat of the fire as it licked the sides of a building with its hungry tongues, cries for help falling on the deaf ears of the elves. A woman with long raven hair tumbled from the forest, clutching her growing stomach. She collapsed to her knees when she saw she smoldering remains of her home; she tried to stager forward but one of the elfmen held her back, a self-righteous look on his beautiful face. The cries from inside ceased horribly, and the woman broke down, tears running down her soot-streaked face. The picture wavered and changed, revealing a group of soldiers charging around the corner. The building was naught but smoldering ashes now as they searched for the remains of their captain. One young man overturned a badly charred door, and cried out. Beneath lay the burned and twisted bones of a human, the skull warped a silent scream. They quickly gathered the bones and placed them in a small wooden box, angry shouts rousing the men.

"When the soldiers learned of their captain's fate, they quickly retaliated. No matter what king or country they served, they proved to be efficient ministers of death."

The entire village was now burning on the floor of the prison; a large group ofhumans huddled at the edge of the flaming town. A group of four men held aloft an oaken box; the score had been settled. The elf woman gazed into the flames, the wind whipping her dark hair about her face. She looked like a vengeful goddess as she raised her hand into the air, releasing a feral cry. The soldiers took it up with a roar of retribution as Dralsja collapsed into oblivion.

"So she led the humans of the village along the edge of the forest; she knew that the loss of so many of her kin would not go unnoticed for long. The BloodQueen, they called her; they would have followed her to the ends of the earth. She gave birth to her child on the trail; a healthy daughter they called the Fairchild. They lived like brigands, stealing from whatever hamlet or farm they came upon. For two years they reigned along the edge of Du Weldenvarden, before they were conquered."

The stones, which had been showing pictures of endless raids and camps, became a frightened mass of confusion; the former villagers had become hardened warriors. An army of elves appeared from the forest, a Rider at their head. She rode a dragon the color of steel, her platinum hair flashing in the air. She pointed her blade at the BloodQueen, shouting something in the ancient language. The rogue queen laughed, a high, insane laugh that made the Rider flinch. "You think you can destroy me, Riesarbrisingr? I have conquered fire, blighted magic! My people are undefeatable. We are of one vengeance! You have no power over us, foolish elf! Go back to your damned forest and hang yourself and that flying torch you ride!" She fired a single arrow from her long, curved bow, striking one of the soldiers in the chest. The dragon roared, a long stream of emerald flame spewing across the ranks of Dralsja. The men howled in pain, but charged forward, bringing their heavy swords down on the heads of the elven warriors. The BloodQueen cackled again, raising her hands to the sky. Storm clouds swirled like black smoke over head, exploding into torrents of sharp rain. The dragon and Rider leapt into the air, circling the maddened witch below.

"This must end, Karua!" the Rider cried. The witch seemed startled by this; no one had dared to call her by her name for nearly three years. Time stood still; a pocket of calm separated the dark elf from the raging chaos of the battle. A silver tear trickled down her dirty face. What had she done! Through the confusion, a small, red-haired child stumbled to her, and she placed her hand on the girl's head. She knelt with tired eyes. "Goodbye, darling. This must end," she repeated, kissing her daughter on the cheek. The child began to cry, raising her arms to be held. But the mother shook her head, standing. This must end.

"And end it shall, Rider! FOR YANNICK!" she cried, raising her arms to the sky. A fork of lightning struck her; in a flash, all of Dralsja vanished with a cry of despair.

"And so she destroyed herself and everything she had created, and the Raiders of Dralsja became stuff of legend," said Amaka dully, waving her hand over the cobbles. The picture vanished. He looked up at her.

"And that child was you."

"How perceptive," she replied dryly, standing. He scooted back, watching her. She watched him back with those startling green eyes, wiping sweat off of her brow. "So the Rider returned a hero, having removed a threat with four words. Karua BloodQueen was no more; but the question of my future remained. I was raised by the smith, Rhunön, until I was old enough to leave. Then I left."

Eragon blinked, shocked. She, too, was old enough to be his great-grandmother's great-grandmother. He felt very, very young and inexperienced, even as he sat below the pacing convict. He watched her dumbly as she placed her head against the stone. "Damn, it's hot."

He whistled "els rondir" quietly, freshening the air. She whipped around to face him, hands raised and looking angry. Then she smiled, looking relieved. "Cooling spell. And to think I nearly killed you just now." She shook her head, smirking. "Don't try to curse me. A scortch mark on the floor of a prison cellwould be a sad way to end such a promising career."

He shook his head fervently, standing. "And why would I want to kill you?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm a dangerous criminal, Shur'tugal. The elves seem to want very much to do so. Even Ary…" She stopped, as though catching herself. She glared at him as though it were his fault. Unexpectedly, she said, "You owe me a story, dragon boy."

He sighed. "It's a long one."

She chuckled darkly, sitting. "I'm not going anywhere fast."

And so, like so many times before, he began his tale.


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own _Eragon_. These events/Amaka are MINE! yawn tirade over. back to the story. ((by the way...Edward Speleers is fricken hot.))**

**Please R&R.**

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We he finished, she was silent. "I suppose I should congratulate you…you truly deserve the moniker," she chuckled, "_Shadeslayer_. Let me see your scar." She leaned forward expectantly. He obliged, removing his shirt. He shivered as her cold fingers traced the long, knotted disfigurement, the sensation decidedly awkward. He could feel her hot breath on the back of his neck, the gentle gusts raising the hairs on his skin. He felt very uncomfortable; she was far too close. He pulled away, replacing his shirt more quickly than was necessary and nearly plunging his head into his sleeve in his haste. She drew back, raising a delicate eyebrow. "What of your scar, then? And you still have not told me why you are banished," he said hurriedly to cover up his embarrassment.

She sighed. "I am banished because I kill. The Great Hypocrisy the elves worship denies me the right to remain with them unless I repent. And I refused." Her hand strayed to her own mark, her eyes dark. "The scar is from the king."

"Galbatorix? How? And why?" he exclaimed.

"Aye," she said, fingering it. It began below her left ear and snaked along her neck and down her side, seeming to run the length of her body. "It was punishment. I failed to kill a man after he refused to serve our good emperor. A wily one, that boy was. Looked just like his father, too."

_Murtagh? She tracked him?_ "If you were following Morzan's son…he is dead," he replied quietly.

"Is he, now?" she replied, glancing up at him. "Interesting." They said nothing more for some time, gazing into each other's eyes. He broke the contact first, feeling very odd. He gazed at the floor, summoning the courage to ask another question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to.

"Who did you kill?"

"The dragon Kirman."

"You killed a dragon?" he cried, leaping to his feet. Fury heightened his distrust as he stalked forward. Sudden pain snaked across his back and he cried out, collapsing to the ground where he writhed, praying for it to end. Dark spots swirled before his eyes as he thrashed, congealing into infinite blackness as he closed his eyes against the agony.

When he opened his stinging eyes, the beautiful dragon killer was crouched next to him, her head pressed to his chest. When she saw he was awake, she sat up, looking concerned. "You alright?"

He pushed her away, struggling to a sitting position. That attack had been one of the worse yet. He scooted up against the wall and ran his hands through his hair, breathing heavily. He looked up to find her watching him, sitting on her haunches. She looked very wild as the shadows of evening crept across her face, staining her hair the color of blood. "Stay away from me," he whispered. _She killed a dragon._

"It was either him or me, _Shadeslayer_. You know all about that," she said quietly. He turned his head from her, staring at the blank wall.

_Little one? Where are you?_

"Saphira!" he choked aloud, relief flooding his brain. He glanced at Amaka, then looked away, returning to his conversation.

_I'm here._

_Where's here?_

He sent her a mental picture of the cell. She groaned.

_What on Alagaesia did you do now?_

He chuckled. _Not me. I'm just visiting. _He quickly explained the situation to her, reminding himself in the process that Amaka would soon be put to death. Saphria sensed his discomfort, frowning.

_I'm coming to get you. I don't like it._

He sighed. _Alright. How long?_

_How long _should_ I take?_ She asked irritably.

_Not long._

She broke the contact just as he was beginning to feel the deer settling in her stomach. He looked over at the captive, feeling almost disappointed. "I must go."

"Have fun." She chuckled. "See you in the morning. I hear the sunrises here are just _glorious._"

With that morbid thought ringing in his ears, he rapped on the door and exited into the outside world.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry it's been so long! Please R&R, hope you enjoy**

**Don't...own..._Eragon_...Amaka...is...mine...collapses**

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The morning dawned cool and bright, the chirping of the birds caring nothing for what horrors the day would bring. Eragon turned off Oromis's contraption; he had managed little sleep anyhow, thoughts of Amaka filling his mind. He stood, pulling on his shirt and shaving without waking Saphira. He didn't really want to discuss this with her; he had a feeling it would only make trouble.

He went down the stairs, running his fingers through his hair. What was he expecting, exactly? He shivered as his feet hit the hard earth, the balls of his feet tingling. Magic? It seemed that the earth vibrated with anticipation. A strange and hollow feeling rose in his stomach. He tried to ignore it, rubbing his arms to warm them. But the air around him was not cold; what under the sun was going on?

A party of elves appeared at the corner of his vision, approaching from the palace. Queen Islanzadi walked at the front, dressed the purest white shimmering samite. Arya walked slightly behind her, her head bowed, clad in a simple white dress that fell to the ground. Their escort, a party of ten elven warriors, was also clothed entirely in white; their proud heads held high and spears in hand. As they walked, elves trickled out of the surrounding houses to join them. All were dressed in white; Eragon felt decidedly unclean as the billowing cloud of elves approached. An unearthly silence blanketed the crowd, broken only by the cries of "_Wyrda!_" that erupted from the white raven hovering above them. The solemn procession strode down the avenue and towards the center of town.

Eragon started walking as the royal party passed him, walking apart from Arya. If she saw him, she gave no sign; his heart panged to be so near to her, but so far away.

They came to a halt at a crossroads; two of the other three roads were filled with silent elf-folk. In the center, a huge byre had been raised. The deadwood wound together like snakes, the lifeless branches reaching skyward in a futile search for redemption. Eragon shivered again; the presence was stronger here, the tension becoming so intense the air nearly crackled with it. Over the horrible silence, the creaking of cartwheels could be heard.

The collective heads of the crowd turned as one towards the empty road that led into the woods; slowly, a small wagon came into view, escorted by the four guardsmen. Sitting in the middle of the wagon, her flaming hair flowing out behind her like a defiant banner, rode Amaka Yannickosi.

The cart rumbled to a halt at the edge of the crossroads, the mule leading it shying nervously. The elf riding it unhitched it from the cart, pulling it off to the side. Two of the guards lowered one side of the wagon; reaching up, they grasped Amaka about the waist and hauled her from the cart. Her hands were bound before her, her burgundy cloak replaced by a sleeveless white shirt. Her fawn breeches were dirty and torn, as though she had fallen to her knees several times. A spectacular purple bruise had blossomed down her left arm, but she did not even blink as her captors hustled her forward roughly. Dragging her before the Queen, the guards released her, standing on her either side.

Her wild beauty had only increased with the look of quiet nonchalance she had plastered on her face. She stood before a multitude of seething hate, her eyebrow raised as if in polite question.

"Nameless One!" Islanzadi called, her voice shattering the quietude. Her face was pale and drawn, her hand clenched tightly on her scepter as she spoke. Her daughter stood motionless at her side. Arya's silence spoke volumes; he could tell that she had never expected this to really happen. He took an involuntary step towards her, to comfort her; she did not notice, her eyes trained on the prisoner.

"You have been found guilty of breaking our sacred traditions and treaties by first killing another being without provocation…" Amaka made as though to speak, but the guards restrained her, "and then returning from your gracious exile without cause. Therefore, in disowned shame before your brethren, you are condemned to death by fire."

All eyes watched the prisoner as the Queen's ringing tones faded into oblivion. Amaka shook her magnificent head, a strange convulsion racking her body. She raised her head to the sky. She was laughing.

The laughter carried around the silent crossroads, cold and mocking. Eragon shivered as the Queen ordered the guards to carry her to the pyre, the high, crazed laughter ringing in his ears. The guards lifted her from the ground marched her up the byre, tying tightly to a long, thin spike that seemed to pierce the darkening sky. Clouds had gathered as the elven people had, circling the sky like prowling gray wolves.

The guards stepped back and the Queen stepped forward, taking from one of her escort an unlit torch. She held it into the air and it burst into flame. "Tradition demands that you speak your mind, such that it is," the Queen said coldly as the laughter stopped. Amaka gazed down at her with piercing jade eyes, her mouth a wide grin. She looked past the Queen, gazing first at Eragon and then Arya. He felt the princess shudder beneath the verdant gaze as the two locked eyes. Then Amaka spoke.

"You were my friends. Though my ancestry was tainted, you swore to see past it. I lived in your homes, I played with your children; but I knew I would never be the same. I would never be one of _you._" She paused, her eyes boaring into Arya like hot coals. "I don't deny my charges. I accept them wholeheartedly. However, since I am not one of _you_…you hold little sway over me." Some in the crowd seemed uncomfortable, becoming shifty. Amaka did not notice; her eyes were only for Arya. Eragon glanced at her to see silent tears tumbling down her ivory face, her lower lip trembling. Amaka's lips parted in a wolfish smile, her gaze never wavering. "Do your goddamn worst."

With a cry of rage, the Queen flung her torch to the wood, which it lapped up greedily. Amaka began to laugh once more; suddenly, her hands were free. Almost instantly she was atop the stake, fire licking at her ankles. Eragon stood glued to the spot, unconscious of the terrified people fighting to get away. The sky rumbled with thunder. Their eyes met.

The orbs of burning jade softened for a moment. Her free hand strayed to her breast, her long fingers wrapping around her necklace. She yanked forward violently; the thin golden chain snapped free. She tossed it into the air.

Eragon saw it pass through the air as though in a dream. The colors of the dancing flame were unreal, the slow arch of the sparkling chain seemed to take an eternity. His gray eyes followed its progress across the stormy sky, until it fell at his feet. He reached for it, feeling the metal that was still warm from her skin. He forced his head upward to look at her, to understand. A bright flash of light filled his vision. A fork of lightning snaked down from the heavens, engulfing the waspish figure atop the burning stake. Dimly, he heard a cry behind him; a pair of indigo claws wrapped around his waist, dragging him into the air. His eyes never left the smoldering stake as they flew away, Sapphira pumping her wings as though Galbatorix himself was nipping at their heels.

The swollen sky burst, and glistening rain pelted the land.


	6. Chapter 6

**Here's the last chapter...read the other disclaimers cause im lazy today. Thanks to all who've reviewed, and if i get some more i might do another Amaka fic!**

**Enjoy...

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Weeks later, after the Battle of the Burning Plains… **

Eragon stood outside his tent, his eyes pressed to the sky. Roran was asleep now, satisfied in the fact that he would soon be going to rescue his love. The younger man glanced over his shoulder, his heightened senses registering the steady breathing of his cousin as he dreamed in something like peace. Eragon turned his face back to the sky; there was no peace for him now.

He reached into his pocket for a piece of jerky. Instead of closing around the salted meat, his fingers brushed against something cold and hard. Frowning, he dug it out and held it up. It was a golden amulet, in the shape of hawk's claw. He fingered it gently, running his thumb along the edge. He drew back with a hiss of pain; a red bead of blood bubbled along the pad of his thumb. It was very sharp. He chuckled morosely, healing himself with a thought.

He had grown since his encounter with Amaka Yannickosi. After her disappearance, the elven community had quickly returned to its normal life, as though nothing had ever happened. Eragon had marveled at this at first, but accepted it as yet another paradox. His lessons with Oromis had resumed, and life had gone on. The halfelf was gone. There was nothing else to it.

Or so he had thought, until he had stumbled on Arya a day or so ago, clutching a worn farith in her smooth hands. Eragon had only glimpsed the surface, but the form of a red-headed elfmaid was unmistakable. He had retreated before words could be exchanged, though he was sure she had sensed his presence.

Something had happened between the halfelf and the princess, he was sure of it. But the momentous events of the past few days had blown the incident from his mind…until now. He held the claw up to the flickering light of the torches, watching his reflection in the smooth surface. A dark shape detached itself from the shadows of the tent, reflected on the amulet. He whirled around, hand straying to his empty scabbard.

"Please, sit," whispered the shape, a pale hand resting on his shoulder before he could react. The hard grip forced him to his knees, gasping. He clutched the hand, scratching at it in a vain attempt to liberate his arm. A chuckle bubbled from the depths of the wine-dark cloak, and the figure released him. A second hand protruded from the cloak, throwing back the hood. Flaming curls tumbled onto her shoulders, her green eyes sparkling in the wavering torchlight. A laughing smile stretched across her face, and she brushed the tip of a long, thing stiletto across his cheek.

"Greetings, Morzanson," Amaka Yannickosi whispered, stepping back and sheathing her knife. Eragon leapt to his feet, growling and lunging forward. She danced easily out of his way, spry as a new spring deer. Her armor flashed beneath the open cloak as they circled each other, their eyes never leaving the other's face.

"Are you here to finish the job you started, then?" Eragon snarled. "Murtagh wasnever your target…It was me!"

"Clever little Shadeslayer, aren't you?" she said, smirking. "But, no, I am under a different lord's pay nowadays. Yours, in fact. And an ample sum, too, I might add. General's wages are more impressive than you'd imagine." She stopped, sitting heavily before the fire in front of the tent. She crossed her booted feet atop another of the logs that served as crude chairs, her emerald eyes never leaving the furious Rider. "But I feel we have some unfinished business."

Eragon sat across fromher warily. All of his elvish senses screamed at him to leave, to get out while he still could; but he ignored them, drawing his legs up beneath him. He was silent for a moment, then raised his eyes to her. "The dragon Kirman?"

"Aye," she said, waving her hands at the flame. A dragon the color of dried blood erupted from it, rearing in the chill night air. "It was he and his rider who attacked me, Shadeslayer, not the other way 'round. The beginnings of the Forsworn, in fact." She sighed. "The elves, of course, did not want to believe that a Rider would become twisted the way Galbatorix had; it didn't fit their ideals. Besides, it wasn't until almost a decade later that the Forsworn revealed themselves, and by then, I was already banished." She waved her fingers again and the picture in the fire changed to a figure riding rapidly across the snow, pursued by the massive dragon. "The Rider was killed, the dragon wounded and crazed." The picture in the flame changed to one of chaos, two bloody figures dueling in a field of snow. The dragon reared up, and the smaller figure leapt forward, driving a pike deep into its neck. The dragon roared and thrashed, breathing fire on the figure that screamed and fell into the snow. The dragon howled a final time before crashing to earth, silent forever. The figure was still for a moment, then stood, her clothes charred and falling to pieces. The figure, Amaka, pulled the pike from the dragon's body with a horrible squelch and the picture vanished. "Do you under stand now?"

He sighed, his anger draining from him as the air rushed from his lungs. "Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered, gazing into the dying embers of the campfire.

She chuckled. "You never asked, Shadeslayer."

"Eragon. My name is Eragon."

He looked up to find her watching him, unchanged from the wild young woman the elves had captured so long ago. Her eyes bored into him now, as they had then, but this time his gaze did not waver. She smiled.

"Aye." She clapped her hand on his shoulder. "Now you understand, don't you?"

He nodded, and put his hand on top of hers. Her smile widened, and she stood. He looked up in surprise, then scrambled to his own feet. She laughed; not the cold, heartless laugh of a prisoner but the pleasant, mirthful laugh of happiness. She gripped his shoulders gently. "Don't tell the Princess I've been around, alright? It's a little early, yet," she said quietly, a sad smile covering the laughter.

"What happened between you two?" he asked.

"Long ago, we were friends…don't worry your pretty little head about it." She chuckled, ruffling his hair. She turned to leave, and he called out, extending the necklace to her. She looked at it, then smiled. "You keep it. You need all the help you can get." She turned again, but paused, returning to him. Her foresty eyes sparkled in the crackling flame as she gazed at him. Unexpectedly, she swept him into a hug. Even beneath her armor he could feel her body up against him and he shivered. He returned the hug impulsively, burying his head in her long hair.

"Lifeishell for people like you, Morzanson," she said softly. She leaned forward and kissed him, her lips lingering on his for just a moment to short. He blushed, embarrassed by the fact that he quite enjoyed it, and she laughed again. "But know, at least, that you aren't the only one." She pulled away, straightening her sword belt and giving him an exaggerated salute. She began to melt into the chill night air.

"Until we meet again, Eragon."

Hereturned the smile,fingering his tingling lips."Indeed."

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**alrighty! so that's all for now!**

**Laura--thanks, i know, my grammar sucks.**

**Annie--thanks, i know my grammar sucks. did this chapter answer your question?**

**To all my freeloading readers...hope you enjoyed it. be sure to check out all my other fics, etc etc. **

**Reinnos, signing off...**

**_click_**


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